


thunderstorm

by spells



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Fluff, Ghouls, M/M, Rain, Witches, also kuroo dies a few times but he's fine okay, angst I guess?, my own witch lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-03 04:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17277353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spells/pseuds/spells
Summary: He’s standing in the rain. Kenma can’t help thinking, he’s so handsome.





	thunderstorm

**Author's Note:**

> here u go ! witch AU! this is all in my own little witch universe so if u wanna know more about the lore you can talk to me on twitter!  
> content warning for mentions of death, even though no one dies. you'll get it.

It doesn’t rain at Tashiro’s funeral. In fact, the sun gleams proudly on the clear blue sky, vast and intense like the bucket tool on a clear canvas. It feels like the weather is mocking Kenma as it shines down on him, burning right through his black raincoat. Steaming through everyone’s black clothing.

No one knows Kenma, and no one comes to talk to him. Everyone gives quiet condolences to the family of the deceased, sits down on squeaky-clean plastic chairs, mutters something along to the hymns. None of the guests acknowledge each other. Kenma’s glad – the few funerals he’s attended where people came up to him were by far the worst. How can he justify attending the funeral of a random someone, whose close ones don’t know you? What would you be doing there?

He walks his way back home. He stops by the herbal store to buy more dried hibiscus, since he’s running out. Kuroo took longer, this time. He nearly drank all of Kenma’s tea.

It was Kuroo who showed Kenma the shop, something like a month ago. Although it is clearly there, it also feels invisible. Crammed, tucked between a booming bakery and the post office, like a second thought, like an intrusion. There’s no door, just an entrance, but you can smell the spices from several feet away, mixed in with cinnamon and butter if you’re close enough to the bakery. A wooden sign with ‘herbs’ carved into it pales in comparison to the entire cityscape, and Kenma has yet to ask what the store is actually called.

The atmosphere change is palpable as soon as he steps in, steps up into the establishment. It might just be because he escaped the sun, that drained his energy with every step, but he knows that’s not all. The air warps around him, welcoming him, comforting, and every energy in the place seems to celebrate his presence. For once, it doesn’t hurt to be acknowledged. He knows that, like this, being recognised is only right.

He’s memorised where the dried hibiscus goes, and walks right up to it without checking who’s working at the time. Kenma simply starts dropping petals into the pot he’s brought from home, like he’s been doing for weeks.

“I’m sorry, but can I help you?”

Kenma jumps at the voice, dropping his pot and taking a step back. It earns him a quiet wail, like a guilty puppy, from the person who had been speaking to him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Says the orange-haired boy in front of him, bending down to pick up the pot and the flowers. Every petal that fell to the floor, he picks up separately, and keeps tight in his right hand. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I-I’m sorry, sir.”

Kenma doesn’t speak to strangers. He doesn’t ever know what to say.

“It’s fine,” he murmurs, voice thick from misuse and coming from the depths of his throat. The boy looks at him like he didn’t expect him to talk.

They stand still for a couple of seconds, both surprised at the other in at least some way. Uncertainty and fear start to settle somewhere in Kenma’s gut, slowly igniting his fight-or-flight response, but he doesn’t feel like he should leave. He can feel everything around him pushing him to stay, a strong grip around his upper arms, on his lower back.

If he could, he’d cast a protection spell under his breath, out of anxiety. But he’s drained, and there’s a probable-normal standing right in front of him, watching his every breath.

The boy stretches his arms and offers the pot back to Kenma. Hesitantly, he takes it.

“I’m sorry,” he says once again. Kenma doesn’t have it in him to tell him anything else. “I only wanted to help. Is this everything, or do you want anything else?”

Quieter than the wind, Kenma whispers, “Just this.”

He pays and leaves without saying anything else. He’s dreadful as he finishes his walk home, feeling something on his heels, right behind him, so close that he won’t dare look back.

When he opens the door to his apartment, just the sound of running water from his fountain gives him a last surge of energy, a pump of adrenaline. As soon as he sputters the last syllable of the protection cast, he feels the thing vanish, and all the stress leaves his shoulders. He locks the door behind him and slots the pot of hibiscus on his highest shelf, the one he can only reach with a stool and that Kuroo only managed to reach once.

Funeral days are always the worst. Kenma feels like he can’t do anything, like he’s being pushed down to the ground along with the dead, whether it rains or not. No thunderstorm can heal him from the feeling – trust him, he’s tried. Once he’s back, whether it’s nine in the morning or four in the afternoon, all he can do is sit on the couch and let his fountain lull him to sleep.

He wakes up at eight o’clock sharp and drags himself up, feeling his hair matted flat against the back of his head and his socks slightly damp. It rained overnight, he realizes, and feels a little better the moment he sticks his nose out the window. He can breathe in the cold humidity and it serves like fuel, a car with the tank full. He goes into his room and pulls on a jumper before leaving the apartment.

There’s a girl waiting for him on the steps that lead up to his apartment complex’s entrance. She has long, straight hair, bleached blond just like his. When he sits down next to her, she doesn’t turn, she doesn’t speak. She breathes, and he breathes, people rushing down the pavement and heading either way. Kenma can feel the wet concrete underneath his feet, pulsing through his boots.

“It was worse, this time,” the girl says. She sounds young, and wrong. Her voice sounds like it should never be sad. It should be cheerful at all times, quick and high-pitched. It sounds wrong. “It’s never fun. Especially with children. But… They loved me. More than I think I’ve ever been loved. And it sucked. I wonder… I wonder if Mom’s going to feel guilty. If she’s going to sue the cabbie. What was she like, Kenma?”

“She cried.”

The girl doesn’t say anything else. Kenma can see her clench her hands in the corner of his eye, and he wonders whether she’s crying. He wouldn’t be that surprised.

“I bought you tea,” he says, because he doesn’t like feelings. Doesn’t like to deal with them, to have them, to see them. They make nothing but messes.

“Thank you,” she replies, voice even wronger. Thick, with tears and muck.

She follows him upstairs, and locks the door once he’s inside. They’ve got a routine set up already. Kenma heads into the kitchen, and Kuroo sits down on the couch and waits. He brews them both tea and brings it back, a hand-crafted clay mug for him and a manufactured cat mug for her. She takes it, nose red and eyes red-rimmed, and breathes in the steam.

Kenma dangles his fingers out the window.

“How’s the job hunt going?” Kuroo asks, because she can’t afford to stay on the subject for too long. Kenma isn’t one to talk much, but just like he’s at his weakest on funeral days, Kuroo always struggles with the day-after. And it’s justified, of course. Kenma can’t even imagine what it must be like.

“Kuro, I am not becoming a weatherman.”

She laughs, and for once, she sounds right. “Why not? It’d be so easy for you! You’d become famous, I bet!”

“It’d be cheating,” Kenma mumbles. “There are normals out there that study their whole lives because nature fascinates them, and they want to sort it out. If witches stole all nature-related jobs, because it’s easy for us, there would be nothing left for normals to do.”

“I bet there are earth witches in construction work,” Kuroo pouts.

“I’m not becoming a weatherman,” Kenma repeats, and it’s final.

 

~*~ 

 

Seventeen days later, Kenma runs out of tea again.

Kuroo fixes their hair in front of the mirror and catches Kenma’s reflection on the very corner. “You’re going out?”

“You drank all my tea,” he says.

“Not my fault,” they shrug, and mess with their hair a little bit more. “I’ll go with you, though. Give me a minute.”

Kenma stands by his fountain as he waits for Kuroo to get ready. He leaves his hand millimetres away from the falling water, and it rids him of all anxiety. It hasn’t been raining much, lately. He’s barely been capable of getting out of the house under the scorching, merciless sun, one funeral worse than the other. Needless to say, it’s been making his job hunt extremely difficult.

“C’mon,” Kuroo grins, sporting a bright orange jacket over a shimmery blue dress. Kenma frowns for a second, until they shrug, “I can’t choose what my body wears. C’mon, if I went for nice clothes after this poor person’s been dressing like this their whole life, people would _know_ they’re about to die, Kenma.”

Kenma simply turns and opens the door.

Kuroo talks the whole way to the herbal shop, going on and on about their current family and how they’ve got a trip planned in a couple of months. Some type of family reunion. They’re not sad while they talk about it, but Kenma knows they feel guilty. He knows they wish they could do something to save the poor person, to save their family, to keep them all happy. When Kuroo was a homeless man, he cried every single night. Kenma couldn’t sleep, hearing him. He paid for the funeral, and was the only person there.

As they turn a corner, Kenma interrupts them, and Kuroo doesn’t mind. “What do we need again?”

Kuroo digs the shopping list out of their pocket, and reads it out, “Dried hibiscus, peppermint oil, cinnamon sticks, dried lemongrass, black pepper, dried chamomile.”

“I don’t know where half that stuff goes.”

“Well, that’s why there’s a guy working there, right?” Kuroo laughs, and enters the shop. It’s dark inside it, and he’s behind Kuroo, but he can sense them grin and go, “Hey! Good morning!”

It’s the same orange-haired kid from the last time. He jumps up from where he was sitting behind the counter, and he and Kenma exchange glances. Energy sends tingles up Kenma’s arms, and he fists his hands. “Good morning! U-um, how can I help you?”

“Hinata, is it?” Kuroo says, voice kind and inviting. Trickery.

“Hinata Shouyou, yes!”

_Shouyou_ , Kenma thinks. It’s a pretty name. His whole name sounds witchy, but Kenma can tell he isn’t.

“Hinata, we need a few things, could you help us find them?” Kuroo offers him the shopping list, and Hinata’s hands shake as he reaches for the note. He runs his eyes through it quickly and, in a second, he’s already walking up and down the shop, picking out boxes of spices and herbs, even on the top shelves.

He lines them up on the counter, and looks up at Kuroo, beaming. “Here you go!” He meets Kenma’s eye and looks down, going a little red.

This time, Kenma doesn’t know if he walks forward out of his own will or if space pushes him, but either way, he’s the one to meet Hinata at the counter. Not Kuroo, who stands still where they were and watches the scene unfold. Kenma, with prickling in his hands and the fear of making the boy feel uneasy. Kenma, with the unsettling eyes, and the water in his shoes. He’s nervous.

“Thank you,” he mutters, and Hinata burns even brighter.

He thinks he says something like “you’re welcome,” but he says it too quietly for Kenma to be sure.

Kuroo doesn’t move. They watch the process of weighing and paying unfold between Hinata and Kenma, and only joins the latter when it’s time to leave. They wave cheerfully at Hinata, and Kenma’s glad his own hair hides the redness in his ears.

He never wants to come to this shop again. Poor Hinata probably hates him, with how nervous he gets.

As soon as they get out and turn, suddenly hidden by the shadow of the post office, Kuroo grips Kenma by the shoulders and shakes him, once, twice, thrice. “Kozume Kenma!”

Kenma blinks to get the spots out of his eyes, once Kuroo lets him go. “What now?”

“You just-! You interacted with another person! In this town!”

“Yeah…?” He doesn’t know what Kuroo’s making such a big deal of. Especially considering how much of a failure that conversation was, Kenma incapable of forming long sentences and Hinata a sputtering mess. It seemed like a perfect failure to him.

“Kenma, you don’t get it. You talked to someone that isn’t me.”

“Kind of.”

“What do you mean, kind of?”

Kenma shrugs. “I mean, I only spoke in half-sentences. Short sentences.”

Kuroo scoffs, and is silent for a second. People pass them by, the two of them insignificant in this huge city, and Kenma just wants to go home.

“You were more comfortable with Hinata than you’ve ever been with me, Kenma,” Kuroo shakes their head, like they can’t believe him. Kenma can’t believe them.

“That’s not true.”

They shake their head again, and midway through the gesture, they check their watch. “Wait, shit- I have to go. I’ll see you! Or something!” They run the opposite way, rushing past people, commuters grumbling as the traffic-cone person pushes them aside.

Kenma walks home by himself.

 

~*~

 

In two days, Kenma watches his best friend get buried once again. He ignores all the prayers around their grave, and stays once the rain starts. It feels worse, this time, for some reason. Tashiro might have been the worst for Kuroo, but Fujimoto feels like they’ll stick with Kenma. And he doesn’t even know why – maybe because Kuroo felt freer than ever with them. Like their personality finally, truly, matched his.

Kenma cries for the first time. Three months of funerals, and it’s the first time he’s cried. He crouches next to the grave and puts his hand on the fresh earth, wet with rain and tears. He enchants Fujimoto with godspeed. He goes home, makes himself chamomile tea, and sits on the roof until the rain stops.

The next morning, Kuroo doesn’t wait for him on the steps. Instead, she wakes Kenma up by frantically knocking on his door. She sounds like she wants to break it down.

There is no ‘waiting for Kenma to wake up properly’. As soon as he opens the door, Kuroo’s yelling – Kuroo, ninety-three-year-old woman -, “Get a job at the herbal store!”

“What?” Kenma yawns, blinking slowly, and opens the door wider for Kuroo to enter. She does it slowly, extremely anti-climactic compared to the Kuroo he’s used to. Always a young person, a kid, a teen, an adult. It’s the first time Kuroo’s an elder, even though Kenma would have expected elders to be the most common victims of ghouls. He’s never been very interested in creatures.

“You need a job, and you refuse to become a weatherman. And, you were so comfortable with the herb boy!”

“Hinata.”

“See, you remember his name! Make a new friend, Kenma.”

Kenma plops down on the couch after helping Kuroo do so, her joints cracking with every move. It makes shivers run down Kenma’s spine, and he knows there’s nothing he can do to help that, in this weather. “I doubt there’s any slots open.”

Finally, Kuroo realises his failed logic, with a quiet “Oh.”

Kenma rolls his eyes and starts standing up, ready to make tea for both of them. His best friend stops him, a loose hand around his wrist, as tight as she can get it. “Try the drugstore across the street! You’re not a healing witch, it’s not cheating, right?”

“I’m not that desperate for a job,” Kenma says, shaking Kuroo’s hand off. He keeps walking, and lets his voice go a little louder so that he can still be heard. “And still, I was actually looking for a witch job. Maybe train a kid, I don’t know.”

“There are no witch jobs in this shithole of a town, Kenma,” Kuroo mutters, and she sounds just like an old-timer. It makes Kenma smile.

“I wanted a job better than cashier,” Kenma admits as he sits down again, offering Kuroo her usual mug and her usual tea. She sips it expertly this time, like this is what her body does for fun. She looks thankful for it.

“Well, it’s your first job. You’re just starting out. Maybe someday, you’ll be a famous forecaster-”

“I won’t become a weatherman, Kuro.”

“-or businessman. I don’t know. What even are witch jobs?”

Kenma sighs. “Potion-maker. Protector. Reaper. Caster. Healer. Etcetera. It’s… More complicated in cities, though. There’s usually either no witch community or an extremely underground, tight-knit one. In sparse communities, or witching circles, it’s usually easier to find a job. One witch replaces the other.”

“Kenma…” Kuroo laughs, and a smile stays on her face. She looks sweet, and Kenma fears that she’ll die right now. She looks so peaceful, but so worn. “I used to think I knew plenty about witches, being a creature. And then I met you. Witches really aren’t all a bunch of cursing assholes, are they?”

“You’re talking to a water witch,” Kenma says, mostly to his mug. “We are the calmest. Come across a death witch – you’ve come across a chaos one, you’ve destroyed her, I’m not even going there -, and the talk will be very different.”

 

~*~

 

Once three different Kuroos do their best to persuade him, Kenma puts together a – fake, mostly – résumé. Kuroo had to supply him with all the information that would be helpful, because no part of _mentored as a teenager, pilgrimed for thirty-one months, up-and-coming rain witch_ is attractive to a normal. Maybe his pilgrimage, but to a drugstore and a post office, it doesn’t seem that valuable.

If it were up to him, he wouldn’t tell Kuroo about it when he submits the résumé. There’s no escaping it, really, because Kenma doesn’t like lying, and prefers being straight honest and blunt with things.

What he was trying to avoid, really, is the celebration Kuroo takes him on.

Just like any summer sun, the atmosphere in a pub weakens him. The mass of sweat, hanging heavy in the air, mixed with alcohol and slow words, weighs down on him, presses his chest tight until he can barely breathe. He doesn’t know how normals, or how any witches, deal with it. It makes him feel stripped of any power. Maybe because it’s the height of urban society.

“C’mon, Kenma,” Kuroo grins, words liquid and languid, every young person in the bar giving him at least a look. Even Kenma admits that this body’s attractive, all sharp edges and slow curves. It’s a little freaky to think of this guy as the same person as Tashiro, the nine-year-old, and Ohno, the ninety-year-old. Kenma would give him a hard pass. “Lighten up! You’re gonna get the job you’ve been craving! And you’re gonna make a friend!”

“I hate this place, Kuro.”

He ignores him; nudges him with his elbow, and laughs. “Oh, give it a chance, will you? It’s not that bad. Where is the human within you?” Kuroo stops, blinks a few times, “You’re human, right?”

“There is no such thing as- Yes,” Kenma sighs, thinking better of it, too tired to argue with a drunk version of his already ridiculous best friend. “Yes, I’m human.”

“There you go!” Kuroo raises his arms, and a couple of people cheer. He thanks them with a wink and a nod, and Kenma thinks he’s going to be sick.

Kenma tightens his grip on his water bottle, and he sees a small raincloud form inside the lid, dripping down-down-down and creating a whole climate within the plastic. He focuses until it disappears, like waving off steam, and starts playing with what’s left, guiding drops up and down the side of the bottle. Thankfully, it makes him feel less like shit.

Kuroo finishes his beer and slams the empty bottle hard on the table, scaring Kenma. “Okay, fine,” he slurs, frowning hard, like a toddler. “You’re upset. We’re gonna go home. I don’t care.”

Although he clearly isn’t happy about going home, Kenma doesn’t feel like refusing. Usually, he wouldn’t let his selfishness get to this point, but this was supposed to be a celebration for him. What’s happening, really, and both of them know this, is Kuroo drowning his sadness in booze. All the awful things about being a ghoul, all the insecurity and the guilt and the sorrow, they’ve been bottled up across decades and decades, and it’s finally Kuroo’s chance to drown it out, numb it all.

Usually, he would say ‘no, you’re having fun, we can stay’. But he knows that this isn’t fun for Kuroo, either. He can see.

Kenma stands up, and picks up his water bottle. The water goes against gravity and bunches up where his hand is, but he doesn’t pay it no mind. He tugs on Kuroo’s sleeve until his best friend stands, wobbly so. Kuroo takes some money out of his body’s wallet and leaves it on the table, letting Kenma then help him out of the establishment.

He falls asleep on Kenma’s bed as soon as they get to the apartment, blacking out instantly. It’s a bit annoying, but Kenma doesn’t mind much. It’s not like he was going to sleep now, anyway. There’s something weird inside him, and he isn’t sure what.

He pulls out his potion book, his farewell gift from his mentor. Being a water witch helps with potion-making, but he still can’t do most of them, since it’s tailored for potion witches. A lot of them are just simple recipes for simple needs, though, like basic spells in liquid form. He brews himself grape leaf tea, to strengthen his heart, and takes the book to the couch.

It brings back good memories. Being all alone in a big city sucks, knowing no one but an annoying ghoul. Kenma feels like he’ll never be able to make friends and live a happy life out here. He feels like he should have moved back to his hometown at the end of his pilgrimage. It would have been easier, nicer. He could have kept contact with his childhood friends, could have moved back in with his parents if it had gotten too hard. He would have been fit for the witching circle, would have lived an easy, happy life.

He flips through pages until he finds the hangover remedy. He marks it, slides the book on top of the coffee table, and drinks tea until he falls asleep.

 

~*~

 

Kenma goes to his first day of work with no expectations. After two hours, he feels like even if he had expectations, none of them would be fulfilled. It’s nothing but boring.

He only had to pay attention to fifteen minutes of his orientation to get it. There’s not much to it, a cashier job, or at least he’s gathered so much. As soon as he understood the system, all he had to do was ask his manager if he had any doubts. Kenma might not be the best with technology, but it’s still easy.

By noon, he’s almost falling asleep in his spot. It’s time for lunch, and he has no clue where he’s going to go. He wonders if it would take more than thirty minutes to go home, make himself something and come back.

That’s when the front bell chimes, and Hinata enters.

He looks like an alert kitten, and also like a kid hiding behind their parent’s leg. He has his eyes wide open and his hands close to his chest, curved forward like paws. Slowly, he rakes his eyes across the shop, but Kenma knows he’s hidden behind an isle. If he says something, he might make Hinata jump, just like the first time they met. After a few seconds debating it, he figures that he might as well make them even.

“Hinata?”

Indeed, he jumps. Actually, physically jumps, shoulders raising and feet leaving the floor slightly. Kenma holds back a snicker, but can’t stop himself from smiling. No teeth, and just a little, but still a smile.

Hinata grins, cheeks going even more pinkish, and walks closer. “Oh! Um, hi. I was thinking about it, I think I didn’t catch your name? Those last times?”

“Kozume. Kenma.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Kozume!” Hinata’s eyes crinkle when he smiles wider, and Kenma’s heart almost stops when he sees his dimples. Subtle, and close to his lips instead of in his cheeks, but still cute.

“You can call me Kenma.”

“Oh! Kenma! And, um, you can call me Shouyou. If you want.”

Kenma doesn’t blush, but he can feel his shoes growing wet. He would much prefer blushing, because it wouldn’t ruin shoes or leave them unwearable for days. He kicks them off discreetly, feeling even more embarrassed even though he knows Hinata can’t tell.

“Shouyou,” he says, and it’s _weird._ It’s weird, because the drugstore felt like it was void the moment Kenma entered it. No energies, no power, nothing natural. Just air-conditioning and so much cleaning product, it reeked. It was void. It was void but still, when Kenma says Hinata’s name, he feels power sizzling around him, and every hair in his body stiffening. It’s weird. “How did you know I was here?”

“I, um, I could see you!” He points to the glass front, and consequently, to the herbal store. Kenma wonders who’s there, or if Hinata simply didn’t think about that and left it unattended. That wouldn’t be very smart, so that’s probably not it.

Like the first time, they keep quiet for a second. Right before the moment when Kenma would get uncomfortable, Hinata starts speaking, like he knows him. Like they’ve known each other, _actually_ known each other. “Um, do you want to have lunch together? You looked… Um. Bored, kind of, and I thought- It’s your first day, and-”

“That’d be nice,” Kenma says, interrupting him softly. Hinata doesn’t get offended – he breaks out into a smile, dimples showing up again.

“What type of food do you like, Kenma?” Hinata asks as they walk down the street, every pace too long. He walks funny, like an exaggerated march, with more sway. Although it makes Kenma a little nervous, he can’t get that half-smile out of his face.

“Anything,” he says, and it’s not exactly a lie. He hates fast food, or heavy food. He’ll eat most things, if he has to, but does he have preferences.

“Can I recommend a place, then? Do you mind?”

Kenma shakes his head.

“Ahh, that’s great! So, um, there’s this ramen place that I really love! They make really nice, cheap food, you know? And, like, I got to know it because the owner goes to the shop for spices, and he’s so nice, Kenma! He treats me super nice, and sometimes gives me a discount! Because! Of where I work! I hope you’ll like it too, Kenma!”

This is Kenma’s first time having this long of a conversation with a normal. It’s the first time he’s done it by choice, too, the first time he’s chosen to hang out with someone that has no relation to witchcraft at all. He isn’t sure whether all normals are like this, and he’s just been mistaken all this time. Hinata’s overwhelming, and still, comforting. He makes Kenma feel normal – not in the magic-less meaning -, and it’s surprisingly nice.

Once they get to the restaurant, Hinata sits by the counter, and Kenma follows him begrudgingly. He does it for two reasons; one, the boy looks so excited, it would physically pain him to go against him; and two, he feels too awkward to ask to sit somewhere else. He hears his mentor in his head, telling him to be more trying, be wilder, face his fears. Trust his gut. Although his gut is telling him to go live in a shack in the middle of the woods, he sits on a stool right next to Hinata.

“You like ramen, right?” He asks once Kenma joins him, suddenly looking very nervous. Kenma frowns for a second, and then nods, his best shot at being reassuring. “Oh, oof. You weren’t… You just weren’t saying anything, so I wasn’t sure, all of a sudden, you know? But I’m really glad! You’re just like that, aren’t you?”

He nods again, and Hinata smiles at him. It makes his heart a little warm, his hands tingling again. He’s making a _friend_ – Kuroo’s never going to let this go, now.

Someone comes by to serve them, and once she sees Hinata, she smiles at him and makes small talk. After Hinata introduces Kenma and talks a bit about how he’s doing, the woman goes back inside, and the owner comes out to talk to them.

“Shouyou! It’s been a while!” He laughs, voice deep and satisfying. It feels homey, familiar. It booms out, with strength and power, like he’s talking mic-less to a stadium.

He looks at Kenma, and he can feel the power emanating from him. It makes him wonder whether he has anything magic to him, because there’s no way a normal feels like that, right? The look doesn’t last long enough for him to figure out, both of them focusing back on the redhead.

“That’s true, sir, I’m sorry! I brought my friend here today, though,” Hinata turns, smiling at Kenma, and electricity runs through his veins at being Hinata’s friend, “and I was wondering if you could make us special ramen? To, you know, guarantee the clientage.”

“Well, I’d sure love to, Shouyou! I’ll be back, kids. Don’t have too much fun!”

It’s bizarre, to Kenma, how Hinata doesn’t waste a second before he starts talking again. It’s not bad, or uncomfortable. No, in fact, he’s thankful, because silence between them has shown to make Kenma implode. He doesn’t mind listening to Hinata, not at all. The only thing is that he doesn’t understand how he manages to have things to talk about, and to not feel burdened by speaking. Once again, it makes him wonder whether that’s something normals share, and he simply hasn’t paid enough attention to notice.

Also, the ramen’s great.

He seriously wonders whether the shop owner – he hasn’t managed to catch his name, and that only proves his point further – is a witch, something like healing or potions, maybe smoke. There’s not magic in the food, of course, since feeding that to normals would be nothing short of hellishly dangerous, but it’s different from any regular food Kenma’s had before. It’s just right, and it tastes like home. It makes him recall all his good memories, and appreciate the good results from every hardship he’s gone through.

“Did you like the food, Kenma?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, still a little dumbfounded. Hinata giggles beside him, his too-big paces, his orange Converses.

“That makes me so happy! If you have anywhere to recommend, we can go there next tim-!”

Neither of them stops walking, but the same freeze-like reaction falls upon both at the same time. They go silent, and Kenma’s mind races.

“I mean, uh, if-if you want there to be a next time. Sorry,” Hinata says then, voice small, a hair’s breadth.

After a second, Kenma finds it in him to say, “I do.”

Later, much later, Kenma gets to his apartment, feeling drained from work and tired from life. Kuroo’s on the couch, a middle-aged businesswoman flipping through a porn magazine. Kenma ignores her and walks straight to the kitchen, a warm mug of black pepper tea comforting his mind.

Kuroo, however, doesn’t ignore him.

“How was work, sweetie?” She asks, loud and clear, and she sounds like a boss. Kenma’s sure Kuroo is still going to tell him everything about this body, as soon as she gets the chance, but he still feels a little curious.

“Boring.”

Kuroo laughs, and his spiritual age shows in it. No successful, mature person would ever laugh like that. “That’s what the normal world is like, buddy. No use but getting used to it.”

As response, Kenma simply groans, and walks back out to the living room. He sits beside Kuroo, and she closes her magazine and puts it aside. Kenma slots himself so that she’ll drape an arm across his shoulders, and she does, soothingly. It makes him feel worse, and makes him miss his family.

“Well, did you talk to your new friend?”

“We had lunch.”

Kuroo pulls away, and Kenma nearly spills half of his tea. “What? Tell me everything. Now.”

“We just had lunch,” Kenma says, frowning and putting his mug on the coffee table, to avoid any accidents, especially while it’s steaming hot. “I don’t know. He took me to have ramen? That’s all.”

“He took you,” Kuroo repeats, slowly, face filling with mischief. It makes Kenma want to kick her out of his house. “He took you. Like a person takes the other on a date.”

“What?” He rubs his eyes and sighs, too tired to deal with his best friend. “No, Kuro. That’s not it.”

She just laughs. “Okay. Sure.”

 

~*~

 

When Kenma wakes up, he feels invigorated. First, he thinks it’s just because of the long night’s sleep he’s just had, after another terrible day of work. Then, he notices that no, it’s just raining.

Well, it was raining. Now all that’s left is the cold, the air heavy with past and future water, humidity above ninety-percent. The clouds hang low, like a dewy morning in the mountains, and Kenma wishes he could simply walk through them. He feels like going up to the roof and spending his day there, but he knows what day it is, today.

It’s a day-after.

He puts on his raincoat just because it’s comfortable. If he could, he would go out there bare, to feel the water in the air. Kenma likes his raincoat, though. It smells like him again, now, that the seasons have shifted and it’s rainy again. The deep-inside-a-wardrobe, moldy smell has faded away entirely.

Kuroo’s sitting in his usual spot, but today is different. He’s sitting upright, proper, instead of slouched forward like usual, and he has a travel cup of coffee in his hand. Kenma can’t feel anything wrong, but he knows something’s different. He sits beside him, carefully, still making way if anyone wants to pass between them, but close enough to be considerate.

“Kenma,” Kuroo says, and he doesn’t sound like Kenma had expected him to. Not only regarding the pitch of his body’s voice, but simply the way his voice comes out. It comes out a bit raspy, like he hadn’t used it before, like he hadn’t used it in a while. He doesn’t sound like Kuroo – and that’s difficult, since Kuroo’s had all sorts of voices. “If no one ever heals my curse, what’s going to happen to me?”

Kenma sucks in a breath, feeling something shatter inside his chest. There’s nothing he can do except be honest with Kuroo, but he still knows this is going to hurt.

“You’ll keep on possessing people forever. Ghouls… Only the most powerful witches can curse ghouls, because you’re calling upon immortality. You’ll never die, Kuro. If you don’t heal, this will never end.”

He hears a crunch, a light thud, and a splash. He looks to the side, and sees coffee spilling all over the pavement, from Kuroo’s smashed cup.

“Tell me everything,” he says, voice still weird. Still not sounding like himself. “Everything about ghouls – please.”

“I-I don’t know much. My mentor was a potions witch, so she didn’t know much about creatures either, but she taught me what she knew. No one knows much about ghouls. You know that your body’s buried, right? So, um. You were buried without your soul. Every time you possess a new person, their soul dies and is reallocated temporarily to your body. Until their body dies, and their soul goes back inside of it. Then it starts again.

“It’s impossible for something to finish this cycle. There’s no possible catalyst to end this, except reversion of your situation. Nothing will happen to you if no one heals your curse, basically.”

Kenma doesn’t turn to look at him, but he surely hears Kuroo going, “fuck.”

They sit there for some time. It is impossible for Kenma to know how long, but he watches the floor of the stairs underneath him, and hears it when it starts to rain again. When the rain thickens, Kuroo stands.

“Where are you going?”

Kuroo turns to look at him, and he’s standing so tall like this. If his face wasn’t contorted with pain, he would look untouchable. “I need someone to heal me, Kenma. I need to find them.”

Only when he disappears is that Kenma notices that, suddenly, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever see him again.

 

~*~

 

It’s been twenty-six days, Kenma thinks, as he sips a mug of hibiscus tea.

He could find Kuroo if it were an emergency. He knows that, and maybe that is exactly why he isn’t that worried. Sure, he feels guilty, and he misses his best friend like crazy, but he isn’t worried. Kuroo can take care of himself.

Somehow, without even knowing, Hinata’s seemed to fill up the spaces that Kuroo left empty. Not all of them, of course, but a reasonable amount. Hinata’s there during lunch, every day. Kenma’s shift always ends before Hinata closes up the shop, so now, Kenma goes and hangs out with him until it’s closing time. He’s also a helping hand, since he almost knows the store as well as the boy, and Hinata insists on giving him discounts – “not because we’re friends, but because you kind of work here every day!” – even though Kenma always tries to convince him not to.

Kenma likes – loves – spending time with Hinata. Now, he realizes that he shouldn’t.

Being a normal and getting close to a witch, or vice versa, has literally never gotten anyone anywhere. At least, not a developing witch, of course. Usually, witches stop exploring the world and settle down, sometimes with a normal, once they’re thirty-something. For young witches, getting involved with normals usually brings sorrow. Kuroo’s the living proof of that, or, well, sort of living – exactly Kenma’s point. And of course, Kenma would never curse anyone, but still. Still.

He misses Kuroo.

Sometimes, he feels like he should try to make more friends. Go out more, explore the city, get to know the place he lives in. Maybe he could find more witches, if he looked hard enough. Maybe. He likes things enough the way they are, though. If the current state of his life already overwhelms him, he doesn’t think he would be able to manage anything more.

Hinata invited him over to his place yesterday, after closing time. Kenma couldn’t see a reason to say no right then, put on the spot like that, so he said yes.

Kenma doesn’t even know where to start, his thoughts and memories too scattered to make easy sense of them.

Hinata doesn’t live alone. He has two flatmates, Kageyama and Yachi, both about their age and very peculiar. They prove Kenma’s thought, that all normals were like Hinata, wrong, more than his customers ever could. Kageyama is tall and silent, and Yachi small and nervous. Neither of them seems like the type of person Hinata would easily become close to, not being very similar to him at first glance, but then again, Hinata became close to Kenma. It wouldn’t be surprising if he could make friends with anyone.

The apartment is cozy, and feels lived in. There is no magic in it, but Kenma feels comfortable either way. There are posters and art prints on the walls, and messy interconnected spaces for each of the inhabitants. Yachi has a small office of sorts, mostly a cluttered desk and uncountable scraps of papers taped to the wall. Right opposite to it is what Hinata described as Kageyama’s nook, with the door to his bedroom and a few shelves visible inside.

Next to the kitchen, there’s Hinata’s room. That’s where they go, at first, Hinata telling him that “We’ll settle down a bit, then if you want, we can grab something to eat? I was thinking something like that! Maybe watch a movie, or play some games…”

Then he enters his room, and bursts into flames.

“Oh my God, I- I forgot… I’m so sorry, Kenma!” Hinata jumps and puts himself in front of Kenma, spreading his arms like he could hide his room. It is a whole mess, blankets and clothes scattered on the floor, figurines turned over, books falling off his shelves. “Sorry! I didn’t think about how I’d left my room before I invited you over… I should have put things together properly!”

“It’s okay,” Kenma says, quietly, and he wonders if he should touch Hinata in some way. His wrist, or his shoulder. Like people do, to show they’re there. He doesn’t, but he wonders if he should.

“Are… Are you sure?”

Kenma nods and, slowly, walks past Hinata. He sits down on his bed and it gives under him, softly, the last corner of a blanket finally flopping to the ground. A couple seconds pass, and Hinata joins him.

“You don’t strike me as a messy person, Kenma, but are you?”

He can feel Hinata looking at him, and for some reason, he doesn’t mind it too much. It might be because of the absence of silence, but he’s not sure. He shakes his head, incapable of looking up, back at him.

“Is your friend messy?”

“My friend?” Kenma raises his head, frowning, Kuroo’s absence too fresh in his chest, something like an open wound.

“Yeah. The one with the orange jacket, that came to the store with you, that time! How are they?”

Kenma’s heart squeezes at the remembrance of Fujimoto, bright-eyed and grinning, with ridiculous clothes like the physical embodiment of every part of his best friend’s personality. Even though it’s been months, their funeral feels recent to Kenma’s mind, along with the pain. They just go forgotten, sometimes.

“They’re…” Kenma doesn’t see it fit to tell him that they’ve died. It would bring on too many complications, it would need too many explanations. The issues of being a witch and befriending a normal. “They’re good.”

Thankfully, Hinata immediately changes the subject. There’s no way to know whether he sensed that it was getting touchy, or whether he just came up with something, suddenly. Hinata seems like a transparent, easy person, so innocent that you can see right through them, but sometimes Kenma thinks all his earnest, light-hearted stupidity might just be a façade to a clever, kind guy. Hinata confuses him, even if not in the worst of ways. More like he confuses his senses and leaves him dazed, with lightning racing up his veins and thunder throbbing in his heart.

 

~*~

 

Rain starts pouring as soon as Kenma starts running, and he doesn’t know if he’s causing it.

“What’s that?” Hinata’s voice is fresh in his mind, as if every raindrop that hits him echoes it back to him. Kenma can see his eyes right now, innocent and curious, and so endlessly pretty. He hadn’t noticed, Kenma hadn’t noticed, how he’d become infatuated with Hinata. Infatuated with how everything about his life, and about himself, was so profoundly different to all the things Kenma had grown accustomed to. Hinata was new, and fascinating.

And funny, and kind, and innovative, and daring, and pretty, and easy-going.

Kenma couldn’t hide the truth from him any longer. He would feel guilty lying to him once again.

“A security rune.”

Hinata had frowned, and tilted his head. Kenma could feel his own mistake floating in the air, but he knew there was no turning back. “A rune? What does that mean?”

“It’s…” Kenma could draw it in the air if he wanted to, but he hadn’t. It was right there, on paper, for him to use whenever necessary. He kept fearing getting robbed, now that his manager was insinuating putting him in the night shift. He traced the lines with his index finger, feeling them cold like water droplets. “A spell.”

“Kenma, you’re confusing me. A spell? A rune?”

“You don’t think witches exist, do you?”

Hinata frowned, a deep crease between his eyebrows, and Kenma wanted to smoothen it out. Then, he looked up, pressed his lips together, and looked back at Kenma. “No…?”

How could he ever explain it properly? Without scaring him? There was no way. Maybe someday, Hinata would understand. Maybe someday, he wouldn’t fear Kenma. There was no way that day would be now. He could feel his confidence trembling, his ribcage cracking, his brain sizzling. He didn’t want to tell him, anymore. All he wanted was a way out.

Kenma decided on the same trick he’d used to tell Kuroo that he was a rain witch, not anything wicked. Something simple, and effective, with no purpose whatsoever. Just enough to be a performance, a demonstration of power.

_“Turbinis vasti,”_ he whispered under his breath, sticking his index finger up like he was counting, _one_. A whirl sprouted out of his skin, growing slowly, until there was a small, contained tornado growing, up from his finger. The paper with the runes, and everything else scattered across Hinata’s counter, started floating, one hair away from getting caught in the storm.

He reached up, and caught it in his palm, the winds and the water dissipating as soon as he closed his hand into a fist. Then, he looked at Hinata.

He had stood and walked back to the wall, like he was terrified. He looked terrified indeed, eyes wider than Kenma had ever seen them and lower lip quivering. He kept looking between Kenma’s hand and his face, occasionally sparing glances to the pieces of paper that fluttered slowly towards the floor.

Kenma felt his eyes watering, and he heard a loud crack of thunder above his head. He didn’t know if it was beneath the ceiling or up in the sky, but he didn’t care.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and fled.

As he runs, all the people that he passes by are seeking shelter, running with bags over their heads, rushing underneath awnings and inside shops. It wasn’t a bright sunny day before, but it didn’t really look like it was going to rain a thunderstorm, either. Maybe it really is his fault, Kenma thinks. He’s a bit surprised that he has the power for this, but then again, it was already a cloudy day. He doesn’t want to give himself all the credit, because he doesn’t want his pain to be that strong.

This rain doesn’t invigorate him. Much to the contrary, in fact. He feels like a punching bag, each drop that hits him another attempt to put him down. Not knowing what is tears and what is rain also makes him feel even more dejected, like an idiot, a fool, who shouldn’t have let himself grow so attached in the first place.

For the first time in his life, he feels better when he gets home, a safe roof over his head and rain falling outside only. His heart races, and he hates running, but he couldn’t stand it any longer.

He wishes he had anyone but Hinata. He wishes he could still see Kuroo, because if there’s something his best friend could do, that something is cheer him up. Kuroo was a rock, a constant presence and a reassurance. Kenma still doesn’t know how he’s managing without him.

He crumbles before he can get to the sofa. His knees give out on him, hitting the floor loudly and aching. That’s when he realizes his fountain’s turned off, that he had turned it off before he left for work, because he has to clean it. He was going to clean it as he got home, but he can’t, now. He doesn’t think he can do anything.

With his last strength, he pulls a blanket from the couch, since he’s shivering cold, drenched to the bone. He falls asleep before he can stop himself.

 

~*~

 

Kenma doesn’t eat.

He already doesn’t eat much in general. Not because of any disorders, mostly because he doesn’t feel hungry. He’s careful, usually, to do things that will demand the least of his energy, since he doesn’t like the feeling of effort. Therefore, there’s no need for exorbitant amounts of food. Just enough is fine.

As he is, a crippled ruin of a person with his shoulder blades to the wall, he doesn’t eat.

He doesn’t stand up to pick up the phone, either. He’s very sure that it’s his boss, wondering why the fuck Kenma didn’t show up to work. If he could stand up, Kenma would make up some lie about being sick, getting caught in the rain, maybe fake some sneezes. As much as he hates lying, he hates the truth more. And he can feel Kuroo talking in his brain, impossibly mad at his want to quit. Kenma wants to quit – he doesn’t want to see Hinata, or be seen by him, ever again.

There probably is no way to consume less energy than the way Kenma is right now. Well, of course there’s sleeping, but he’s already in a permanent state of half-asleep, half-dead. He doesn’t eat, because he doesn’t need the energy, but he’s hungry. It might be lack of _energy_ energy that’s making him hungry, with the aching rain still in puddles outside and his fountain switched off, stale water picking up dust.

His doorbell rings, and if he could, Kenma would respond. The thing is, he can’t.

It rings again.

A third time, more impatient, longer, like whoever it is is punching the button flat against the wiring.

Then, they bang on the door. Knocking is not enough of a word to describe it, like they’re kicking the wood, time and time again. Kenma wouldn’t be surprised if it tore apart and got kicked into his apartment, like happens in cop movies.

Kenma takes three deep breaths, and focuses. Using the furniture around him as support, he stands up, slowly, and walks towards the door. He doesn’t know who it could be – maybe his boss, maybe one of his neighbors, maybe his landlord?

With his hand trembling, he opens the door.

“Finally,” a man scoffs, but he’s smirking.

Kenma can’t believe it.

He reaches up and slowly touches the man’s forehead with his thumb. He drags it out until he’s drawn a circle, and pulls back. A bluish white aura appears for just a second, like a booming explosion, like a single puff of smoke, and Kenma’s heart skips a beat with happiness, joy, euphoria, whatever you call it.

“You’re healed,” he whispers, voice growing thick and eyes growing wet.

“Hi, Kenma,” Kuroo replies, and he’s smiling. He’s smiling, all teeth and wrinkles in his eyes, like the absolute loser he is. Kenma isn’t ever, ever letting him disappear from his sight again.

It gives him energy. Enough energy to make tea and open the windows, letting fresh air flow through the house. He hopes it’ll help.

He and Kuroo sit down on the floor, using the coffee table as a dining table, and he takes a sip of his tea. “Please… Please tell me how you’re healed. And everything that happened.”

Kuroo takes a deep breath, and then sighs it out. “Okay, um… After I left, I had to clear my head, and find a path of action, because if you, a witch, don’t know any other witches, how was I supposed to find one to heal me? I went to my grave, after that. I used to go there, sometimes, to clear my mind and ground myself. And I found a boy performing an imprisonment ritual.

“That boy – Kei –, he almost killed me when he noticed I had seen him. But I was just mostly in shock, I couldn’t believe I had lucked out like that, and found a witch immediately. I still can’t believe it. I told him my situation and, since he’s an asshole, it took me some convincing to get him to do my ritual.

“I didn’t know that the unghouling thing took seven weeks, though, and I don’t know how I got him to comply. But I did. He did, he healed me. And I’m finally me.”

Kuroo chuckles, and plays with his thumbs atop the surface of the mug. He hasn’t drunk any of his tea yet, Kenma notices, and there’s something about him. Beyond being healed, beyond being himself, he looks happy, as if he got over the years of his curse just like that. He doesn’t look like he was dead not too long ago, either. His skin is flushed, the apples of his cheeks a healthy pink, and his hair looks soft and clean. He isn’t just himself. He is something else, something beyond his everyday grin, his routine playfulness.

“Are you with Kei?”

He raises his head all of a sudden, stops looking at the pretty red color of his tea, and looks at Kenma like he’s been caught. “How could you tell?”

“You weren’t happy when you were cursed,” Kenma shrugs, and drinks some of his beverage. “You were constantly dejected, even if you didn’t show it. Now, you’re so happy, Kuro. And you’re not just alive – you’re happy.” He pauses for a second, and sighs. “And you said his name like it was your lifeline. This random witch’s given name.”

Kuroo chuckles. “You’ve got me. Now, Kenma, why are you not at work?”

First, Kenma panics. He doesn’t know what to say, so he strangles out, “What?”

“I went to the drugstore, first, you know? I had a whole plan. I was gonna buy a box of hibiscus tea, and I knew you were going to tell me to go to the herbal store across the street once I said that I wanted something natural. Except, when I went up to the counter, you weren’t there.”

Kenma wonders, for a second, if Hinata also went to the drugstore to try and find him. If he was actually not that scared, and wanted to apologize. Most likely, he had stayed at his own shop, terrified of the witch across the street. The witch that can call upon rain, and create tornadoes. The witch that gets water in his shoes when he’s embarrassed, that draws security runes in his free time, that has a ghoul friend that never showed up again.

“I told Shouyou,” he says, and he can see Kuroo’s heart break for him when he connects the dots.

 

~*~

 

As expected, Kuroo absolutely forbids Kenma from quitting his job. The day’s already wasted, the sunset dawning on them with bright salmon skies and neon pink clouds, but Kenma still calls into work with a fake-sick voice, excusing himself for not calling in when he woke up and asking for leave the next day, so he can get his shit together. Although upset that he’s only calling now, his manager gives him her best wishes and hopes for him to get better soon.

“Are you staying the night?” Kenma asks, rubbing their mugs clean, Kuroo messing with the cabinets beside him.

Kuroo looks so good, as himself. He had described his native body to Kenma before, always exaggerating on how good-looking and charming he was, and Kenma was sure that he was joking. Of course he was joking, playfully pretending to be fine by hiding every insecurity, but still, he _is_ good-looking and charming. Maybe it’s something about his hair, the way it’s effortlessly terrible, that makes him charismatic. Maybe it’s the glint in his eye, the same in his smile, quirky and cheeky like a fool. He’s handsome.

The same guy as Tashiro, Ohno, Fujimoto. Kenma looks back to the mugs, and knows that he feels too fraternal towards Kuroo – and too non-fraternal with Hinata, but that’s not important anymore – to genuinely feel attracted to him.

“No. Maybe some other night, though. I need to find myself an apartment, and a job.”

Kenma thinks, for a second, about suggesting him moving in with Kei. He brushes that off quickly, though, because if Kuroo is talking about paying his own rent, that’s got to be because all other options are off the table. Except, “You can move in with me.”

“What?” Kenma doesn’t say anything else, so Kuroo goes back to talking. “Are you sure?”

“There’s a room for you already, anyway. It’s cool.”

“That…” He chuckles. “That would be awesome, Kenma. Thanks, dude.”

“So?” Kenma finishes rinsing his mug, and sets it to dry. “Are you staying the night?”

“Everything of mine is at Kei’s. Seven weeks’ worth of stuff. I need to pick it up.”

Kenma sighs. He bets that, if they keep going and Kuroo doesn’t get cursed again by this goddamn _death witch_ , they’ll move in eventually. Either way, he’s already up to the task of being a temporary home to Kuroo, to Kuroos, so it’s cool. “Maybe bring him with you when you come back. I wanna meet him.”

“Sure thing, boss. I’m gonna head out.”

Kenma nods, and complies, and watches him leave. It’s funny, and it does something to his heart, but he doesn’t allow himself to complain. It wouldn’t be fair, anyway. Kuroo’s coming back. There’s nothing to worry about.

Once he’s gone, Kenma cleans his fountain, puts it up and running again. It’s like the previous day is fading by, and he’s moving on. It feels great. Once there’s falling water in his apartment again, he feels considerably less weak, and maybe things are going to get better, after all.

He falls asleep in his bed, proper, and wakes up with no back aches. The day’s sprawling up outside, yawning and stretching, and he doesn’t know why or how he woke up so early. He doesn’t even have to work today. He peeks outside his window, and notices that it’s just started raining.

It might be the best rain he’s seen in months. Since he moved into the city, probably. He grabs himself leftover bagels from the refrigerator and a stool and sits by his window, watching the rain fall.

There’s no way a normal would notice it, but this isn’t city rain. It might be that teeny bit polluted, but that’s because it came to them. It’s still not city rain. It’s fresh, acidic, cold and pure, all H2O and energy. It’s a rebirth rain, a passage rain. To wash bad things away, to start anew, to grow old and healthy. Man, Kenma almost wants to jump outside, get some of that water on him. It must feel the best. He wonders if he brought it on with his thoughts and wishes, because if so, he’ll do this all the time.

Then, he notices.

He’s standing in the rain. His hair is all wet already, flopped down to his skull, unbelievably flat. His green shirt sticks to his skin, although his shorts don’t. They’re probably waterproof, since the water just slides right off. He’s looking up at Kenma, blinking away the raindrops. He probably has no idea how good that rain is to him – it’s like anything else. He’ll probably get a cold if he stays in it for too long, just like would happen with any other rain.

He’s standing in the rain. Kenma can’t help thinking, he’s so handsome.

Kenma waves his hand, and it’s like he holds up the water above Hinata. It surprises him; he looks up to the sky, then back to Kenma, stunned. He’s too far away for Kenma to see his expression clearly, but it already makes his heart squeeze, and beat tightly against his ribcage.

“You-” Hinata starts, but nothing else comes out.

“Hi,” Kenma says instead, “come in.”

He waits for him to go around he building. Waits for the soft knocks on his front door. He’s already right behind it, and doesn’t even hesitate to open it.

Kenma just wants to kiss him. He looks soft and fragile and innocent. His eyelashes clump together, brownish and long, and his eyes shine so bright. He’s drenched. Once again, Kenma gestures and all the water goes flying out the closest window.

Hinata looks something like awestruck.

“Hi,” Kenma says, once again.

“Hi,” Hinata replies. Kenma’s heart jumps right out the window, following the water.

“Come in,” he takes a step to the side and makes way for him to enter. Awkwardly, nervously, Hinata does. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“No problem. I’ll be right back,” Kenma points to the couch, “but you can make yourself at home.”

Having Hinata over feels a little weird. Definitely not bad, just weird – different. A lot of things feel weird with Hinata, even if Kenma doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s just the newness of it all, friendship and feelings and all. He brews them tea, staring down his ceramic kettle as if that will help anything at all.

Before Kenma hands him out a mug, a muddy-blue too-big thing, Hinata blurts out, “I’m sorry.”

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry,” Hinata stands, but doesn’t look at Kenma. His head is facing straight down, and his eyes are closed. Kenma wants to guide his face back up. “I’m sorry for the way I reacted when you told me. When you showed me. I was just surprised. It doesn’t change anything, Kenma, and I don’t respect you any less!”

Kenma’s heart wasn’t shattered anymore. Still, it pieces itself back together. If you already consider it whole, then Hinata’s words were the final, protective varnish. He puts down the mugs and they clink on the coffee table. Kenma’s sure they will leave watermarks.

Hinata doesn’t let him speak. Not yet, at least. He meets his eye, and says, firmly, “I’m anything but scared of you, Kenma.”

“What is anything _but_?”

There are so many, _so many_ better things that Kenma could have said. He should have reacted properly, to the significant parts of Hinata’s speech. His brain short-circuited, though, and he hung onto the most insignificant fraction.

Hinata answers him with his bottom lip quivering, his cheeks carmine, his eyes bright and clear.

“Anything _but_ is the way you amaze me. You’re so cool, Kenma! You’re intelligent and sincere, you finish things you start, you stand strong. You don’t give up easily, you defend your point of view, you set and accomplish your goals. You…”

Kenma tears up, face as red as fire, because Hinata might never get it, but his words mean everything.

“Why- why are you crying? Did I say something wrong? Oh no, Kenma, I’m so sorry! I’m sor-”

“You didn’t,” Kenma mumbles, hating his voice. “You didn’t say anything wrong.”

Hinata steps forward, shyly, and Kenma falls into his hug as soon as he opens his arms.

He’s so warm, and smells so good. Hinata fits into every meaning of the word comforting, and Kenma falls into him. His tears, not salty but acidic, all H2O and energy, wet his T-shirt all over again. Kenma feels like an idiot, but for now, he’ll allow himself.

After tears and gunk and feelings, Kenma stops. He pulls away, and forces himself to face Hinata, as hard as it is.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, and doesn’t allow Hinata to interrupt him, “for not being honest with you. For not doing things right, and explaining it all to you. And for, um, bombing you with feelings. It’s just been kind of difficult to start a new life in the big city. I’ve been terrified. But I’m better. Thanks for being there for me, and helping me out with this whole process. Thank you for being my friend.”

Hinata winces, and Kenma frowns, guilt barreling straight onto his gut.

“What?”

“Um. Can I kiss you?”

Kenma freezes, then giggles. Then he laughs, and laughs, hands still clinging onto the sides of Hinata’s shirt. Too late, he notices what it might look like for him to laugh, and when he sees Hinata’s face, yes – yes, he has spiraled exactly down the darkest path. Stupid, Kenma thinks, stupid laughter.

“Yes, you can,” he says, once he’s controlled himself, and Hinata looks nothing short of confused out of his mind. “Not right now, though, since I just cried. You can, later, and whenever you want.”

Hinata’s brain doesn’t work, for a second, and then he sighs. “Oh god, you scared me, Kenma! I thought you were laughing at me!”

Kenma smiles, and reaches up for Hinata’s face. He pushes his hair away from his forehead, but it springs back into place. He widens his smile. He can feel electricity in the boy’s blood, like energies but stronger, crackling underneath his skin as Kenma drags his fingers down, softly, across his face.

He notices, a beat too late, that they’re silent, and looking at each other. He notices, right then, that it’s fine. That all the energies have bowed in their favor, maybe because of the rebirth rain outside, maybe because of their apologies, maybe because of Kenma’s tears, maybe because of Kenma’s laughs.

They’re absolutely quiet, each hearing nothing but the pattering, tip-tapping rain outside. It’s a pleasant background noise, and makes it all the more romantic. Kenma can’t stop looking at Hinata, and he knows Hinata is looking at him the same way. It makes his heart beat in tandem with the rain outside.

He doesn’t mind it.

**Author's Note:**

> [i'm out here](https://twitter.com/karasunya)
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> i'm back! happy 2019, folks! im about to go on a week-and-a-half beach trip, so here u go, my last breadcrumb of content for now. there will most probably be sequels (kuroo's story, wiggles eyebrows), so, if you liked this one, there's more! whoosh! as usual, kudos, comments, and bookmarks only make my heart grow fonder. thanks for reading!


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